Dragon's Fire

by Anne McCaffrey

  “If he wins, he’ll have Lord Fenner present it to him ceremoniously,” Kindan said.

  “And savor the reward all the more,” Britell remarked.

  “Look! Benden missed some!” Lord Fenner shouted, drawing them back to the event overhead.

  “So Telgar’s the winner,” Cristov said.

  “Only if they complete this round without letting Thread through,” Kindan corrected, shaking his head. “Otherwise it’s a tie.”

  “If they tie, they’ll split the points and Telgar will win anyway,” Bitrell noted.

  Cristov frowned at that, while trying to do the math in his head. First place was worth five points and second place worth two, so Telgar would earn only three and a half points if they tied with Benden. Add that to the five points that Telgar already had for winning the wing event and Telgar would have eight and one half points. Ista had seven points and Benden would add three and a half to its two points, so neither would beat Telgar. Satisfied, he nodded in agreement.

  “Did that without moving your lips,” Britell said to Cristov with a smile. “I’m impressed.”

  Cristov turned red with embarrassment.

  A cheer erupted around them and Cristov looked up. The skies were clear of the rope Thread. Telgar Weyr had won.

  “Raise the Telgar flag,” Fenner instructed, but Kindan was way ahead of him, raising and waving the Telgar flag to indicate the winner of the Games.

  “D’gan will be well pleased,” Bitrell said.

  “And he’ll get his dirk,” Kindan said to Cristov with a smile and a broad wink.

  Cristov smiled back, wondering what sort of dirk a Weyrleader would covet.

  A crowd rushed toward the stand.

  “Here comes D’gan!”

  Some enthusiastic revelers rushed up onto the stand itself, pushed by the cheering crowd. Cristov was bowled over and had a hard time getting up, buried under the crush of several holders.

  When Cristov stood up again, his clothes felt different, heavier. He started searching his clothing for what had changed.

  “Cristov, stand up, D’gan’s coming,” Toldur hissed in warning.

  Hastily Cristov straightened up and sidled over to Toldur, peering out over the stand to where the crowd had parted wide to let one group pass through.

  The dragonriders all bore the strange, hot, burning smell of firestone and the lean look of those who’d mastered their craft. They looked haughty, proud, determined—and they had earned the right.

  As D’gan stepped upon the platform, the holders and crafters in the Gather burst into cheers.

  “Telgar! Telgar! Telgar!” they shouted.

  D’gan nodded and waved at them, his face beaming with pride.

  “Lord Fenner,” D’gan called out, extending his hand imperiously. “Do you have something special to mark this occasion?”

  Fenner turned to the group of smiths who were approaching and told D’gan, “I believe that the Smithcrafters of Telgar have created something special for you, Weyrleader.”

  “My lord,” the eldest of the smiths called out, in despair, “it’s been stolen!”

  “Stolen?” D’gan cried in amazement.

  Cristov suddenly identified the strange weight in his clothes. With a metallic clatter it fell to the ground.

  “There it is!” one of the smith apprentices exclaimed, pointing to Cristov’s feet.

  Before Cristov could react, he found himself grabbed roughly from all sides.

  D’vin strode over to him and bent to retrieve the dirk. He eyed it carefully for damage, then held it up, point first, under Cristov’s chin.

  “You dare steal from a dragonman?”

  “No,” Cristov said, shaking his head fiercely. “No, my lord. I never saw it before!”

  “A likely tale!” someone from the crowd shouted.

  “Shun him!”

  Halla heard Tenim shouting, “His father was Shunned, Shun him, too!” She followed his voice to spot him standing right before Lord Fenner’s stand, urging the crowd on and Halla knew that Tenim had planted the dirk on Cristov. Tenim glanced her way, smiled, and nodded evilly.

  “Speak up if you want to join him,” Tenim told her.

  “He’s innocent!” Halla shouted, but her small voice was lost in the crowd. Desperately, she strode forward to the steps and shouted once more, “He didn’t do it!”

  Tenim’s gleeful look vanished from his face and he slipped back into the crowd. Even if she couldn’t convince others, he didn’t need Halla pointing her finger at him.

  “Shun him!” the crowd shouted.

  Up on the platform D’gan waved for silence. The crowd slowly subsided, pressing forward eagerly, sensing that the Weyrleader was ready to make a proclamation.

  “He’s innocent!” Halla shouted once more.

  “Indeed, he is,” a loud voice shouted from the back of the crowd. The crowd parted as another group of dragonriders strode through. Halla recognized D’vin.

  “This is a Telgar matter,” D’gan declared, turning away from D’vin.

  “With all due respect, Weyrleader,” D’vin replied, “it seems to me that this is a matter best left to the Lord Holder of Crom.”

  D’vin strode past Halla and up the steps to the platform. He turned to Fenner and pointed at Cristov. “My lord, I happen to know that this lad was here on the platform for the entire Gather, except when he accompanied me on your request. Is that not so?”

  “Well, yes,” Fenner replied, glancing uncomfortably at D’gan, “yes, he was.” To D’gan, he explained, “Cristov and Toldur were invited to attend by Masterminer Britell.”

  “And why was that, miner?” D’gan demanded.

  “I asked that they be here because they are being promoted in rank,” Britell replied. “Toldur to Master and Cristov to journeyman.”

  “Is it your habit then, miner, to promote thieves?” D’gan ask in a vicious tone.

  “No, it is not.”

  “Yet am I not correct in remembering that this lad’s father was just recently Shunned?” D’gan continued. “And now we find him with this dirk, a dirk commissioned especially for me.”

  “There was a rush to the stands a while back,” Toldur interjected. “Perhaps someone dropped the dirk then.”

  D’gan laughed. “That seems hard to believe!”

  A throbbing sound overwhelmed Cristov. He was going to be Shunned. Shunned on the day he was to be made journeyman.

  The throbbing grew. He looked around, aware that others had stopped speaking and were also looking around. A dragon bugled imperiously and the silence grew.

  The throbbing remained. In the silence, Cristov recognized the sound as distant drumming. A nearer drum picked up the message and amplified it. And then another.

  “Firestone mine number nine has exploded,” Kindan reported.

  “Number nine?” D’vin echoed, turning in alarm to D’gan. “Is that the last mine?”

  D’gan sheathed the dirk in his hands and spun on one heel, shouting to his men, “To your dragons! To the mine!”

  “I’ll come!” D’vin shouted after him, jumping off the platform.

  D’gan twirled back to glare at the younger dragonrider. “Stay where you are, High Reaches. This is a Telgar matter!”

  And with that, he was gone.

  D’vin turned to Masterminer Britell with a questioning look. “Shouldn’t some of the miners go, too?”

  Bitrell shook his head. “There were no miners at the firestone mine.”

  “Cristov,” Kindan said softly, stepping close to him, “wasn’t your father at that mine?”

  Slowly, Cristov nodded.

  CHAPTER 6

  Dragon fly, dragon flame,

  Dragon char, dragon tame.

  Rider watch, rider fight,

  Rider aim, rider right.

  FIRESTONE MINE #9

  D’gan swore as he circled down over the wreck of firestone mine #9. He swore at the miners, he swore at the Shunned, he swore at
his luck. Hadn’t everything been going too well? And now this!

  The camp was a smoking ruin, all the firestone consumed in the explosion of the mine. A gaping hole in the side of the mountain was all that remained.

  Firestone mine #8 had gone much the same way, although it had operated for nearly thirty Turns before disaster struck. Prior to that, well before D’gan’s time, the records showed that the last mine, #7, had been completely mined of ore without incident for over a hundred Turns. Privately, D’gan wondered if the old Telgar records hadn’t been altered to disguise some earlier mismanagement. He knew that such things happened. He certainly saw no reason to leave records over which his eventual successor might one day gloat.

  Firestone mine #9 had lasted only two Turns. It had been hard enough to locate a new vein of firestone. Many Shunned had been killed in the search.

  Well, D’gan thought to himself, there’re plenty more scum to hand. His thoughts turned back to Tarik’s son.

  A movement caught Kaloth’s eye, and the great dragon banked tighter, circling back. There.

  I see it, D’gan answered. Covered in bits of wood and debris was the body of a man. It had moved. Tell the others that we’re landing.

  Kaloth obeyed, then circled in for a neat landing not far from the body.

  “Over here,” came a voice.

  Great, D’gan thought, there’s a survivor. His worries about finding someone with enough lore to locate firestone abated. His elation lasted only until he got a good look at the survivor.

  “I know you,” D’gan swore, pulling his dirk from belt and waving it threateningly, “You’re Tarik. Your son tried to steal my dirk!”

  Still in shock from the explosion, Tarik flinched and tried to scramble away from D’gan, but he was still pinned by wreckage.

  “Over here!” D’gan shouted to his wingriders. Six of them ran over immediately. D’gan issued a crisp set of orders, and Tarik was freed from the rubble only to find himself restrained on either side by two burly dragonriders. D’gan strode up to him, toying thoughtfully with the dirk in his hand and eyeing Tarik with evident distaste.

  “What happened here?” he asked, gesturing behind him at the ruin of the firestone mine.

  “There was an explosion,” Tarik replied. D’gan’s eyes narrowed in a frown and he tightened his grip on the dirk. Hastily, Tarik added, “Someone kicked over a bucket of water. I tried to warn them, but it was too late. The mine exploded and blew me over here.”

  “What were you doing in the stocks?” D’gan asked, nodding toward the pile of rubble in which Tarik had been found. He watched Tarik’s reaction shrewdly and noticed how the ex-miner’s eyes widened in alarm, only to narrow again in calculation.

  “I’m a miner; they wouldn’t listen to me,” Tarik said. “The foreman was afraid of me.”

  “If he was afraid of you, why didn’t he kill you?” D’gan asked, advancing toward Tarik, dirk held tightly in his hand.

  “He needed me,” Tarik replied with an edge of desperation in his voice. “I know too much about mining.”

  At Tarik’s words, D’gan paused. The miner had a point.

  “Toss him that shovel,” D’gan said to a wingman, gesturing for the ones holding the miner to release him.

  As Tarik caught the shovel, D’gan sheathed his dirk and told the Shunned miner, “I’ll be back in the morning for a hundredweight of firestone.”

  “A hundredweight?” Tarik protested. “But the mine’s been destroyed!”

  “Build another,” D’gan commanded and turned away to his dragon.

  “What about food?”

  “Tomorrow,” D’gan called over his shoulder. “You don’t want to be wasting time on something that trivial today.”

  “But if I don’t eat, I’ll die,” Tarik cried.

  D’gan climbed up Kaloth’s leg and vaulted into his position astride the bronze dragon’s neck before responding. “If you don’t have my firestone in the morning, I’ll kill you, and then neither you nor I will have to worry about your belly.”

  “But—but who will mine for you then?” Tarik shouted back in terrified amazement.

  “The Shunned,” D’gan replied. “There’s plenty of them, as you well know.”

  Before Tarik could muster another protest, D’gan and his wing of dragons leapt into the air and disappeared between.

  The wing reappeared over Crom Hold an instant later. The moment Kaloth touched ground, D’gan leaped off, ordering his dragon back into the air so that the rest of his wingriders could assemble behind him. With gratifying speed and precision, his wingriders formed silently behind him and D’gan strode off briskly, heading back to Lord Holder Fenner and the others who were still on the platform. Waiting respectfully, as they should, D’gan noted to himself.

  His face tightened when he caught sight of Tarik’s brat. The brat had blond hair and blue eyes, while Tarik had both brown hair and eyes, but the shape of the face was the same.

  Same vapid look, D’gan thought to himself. Same whining ways.

  With a nod to himself, D’gan decided that the boy was as guilty as the father. Justice would be served.

  “There were no survivors,” D’gan said. “The mine was totally destroyed.” He let that sink in for a moment before adding, “It looks like the miner caused the explosion. Sheer carelessness, overturned a water bucket. We won’t be getting any more firestone.”

  This last he said with a sly look at D’vin and a sharp cut of his eyes to Tarik’s brat.

  Only the Shunned worked the firestone mines. Why not arrange to have two miners and two mines? The idea appealed to D’gan not just for its redundancy but also for its efficiency—if both son and father died in the mines, then D’gan was doing all Pern a favor, weeding out a bad bloodline. And if they survived, Pern would benefit from the protection their labors helped provide. Yes, he told himself, a good solution.

  He turned his attention to Fenner. “We’ll need new miners.”

  Lord Fenner and Masterminer Britell exchanged a quick, worried look.

  “My Lord D’gan—” Britell began, only to be cut off by D’gan’s upraised hand.

  “You can start with him,” D’gan said, pointing at Cristov, setting off a cacophony of protests.

  “It’s not clear…” Britell protested.

  “I’m sure he didn’t do it,” D’vin declared.

  “The matter shall have to be decided,” Fenner said.

  “I’ll do it,” Cristov said. The others looked at him in shock. He waved aside Toldur’s unvoiced objections and the worried look of the Masterminer. “I’ll go in my father’s place. He destroyed the mine. Pern needs the firestone.”

  D’vin had been watching D’gan carefully and now spoke up. “The mine was destroyed?”

  D’gan nodded absently, savoring the look of misery on the brat’s face. He should be ashamed, he thought, with a father Shunned.

  He is not bad, Kaloth remarked from up on the fire-heights, punctuating his thought with a low rumble.

  It’s for the good of Pern, D’gan responded, wondering what in the name of the Shell of Faranth had prompted his dragon to make such an observation.

  D’vin glanced up at rumbling from D’gan’s bronze and made a snap judgment. “Cristov can mine at High Reaches.”

  “High Reaches?” D’gan snorted in disgust. “No one’s ever mined firestone there.”

  “There is firestone at High Reaches,” Kindan piped up suddenly. Britell and D’vin turned to him questioningly. “I remember from a map at the Harper Hall.”

  In response to their surprised looks, Kindan added, “I recall large areas in the mountains, mostly to the north by the sea.”

  D’vin extended a hand to Cristov with a firm nod. “So, Journeyman Cristov, will you mine for High Reaches?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Cristov said in a daze.

  “No!” D’gan exclaimed angrily. “He should stay here!”

  Lord Fenner looked at the Weyrleader consideringly.
“Granted that you have a grievance with the lad, wouldn’t it be better all around to give him a chance to prove himself outside the lands that look to you?”

  D’gan gave Crom’s Lord Holder a sour look followed by a curt nod, which he repeated to Masterminer Britell. He snorted at D’vin and turned to leave, only to turn back to Toldur, who had been watching the events intently. “What about you? Would you mine firestone?”

  Toldur lined up beside Cristov with a firm nod, saying, “I will, my lord.”

  D’gan was elated with his response. He held out a hand invitingly.

  Toldur shook his head regretfully.

  “I will stay with Cristov, my lord.” He nodded at the startled youngster and gave him a reassuring smile. He glanced at D’vin then turned to D’gan. “We miners take care of our own. Journeyman Cristov will need a Master’s instruction.”

  “Well said, well said!” Britell exclaimed, nodding fiercely.

  “What about Alarra?” Cristov asked, referring to Toldur’s mate.

  “I would like to have her join us,” Toldur said, looking inquiringly toward D’vin, and then back to Cristov, as he added, “But not until we’ve got a proper house for her.”

  “I can arrange a dispatch to Camp Natalon,” Britell offered.

  D’gan’s eyes flicked angrily from Toldur to the other men before settling on Fenner.

  “I’ll need more men to start a mine,” D’gan told him.

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to get men for Cristov, my lord?” Fenner said.

  “High Reaches can fill his needs,” D’gan snapped. He pointed to the hills in the distance, saying, “I want men for a mine there.”

  He turned to the others. “I think it’s a good idea to start two mines, so that we don’t find ourselves without firestone when Pern most needs it.”

  “There is that,” Fenner said, glancing to Britell and the others. Then he shook himself and said regretfully, “But I’ve no Shunned at the moment. Perhaps you might find some at Telgar Hold, my lord.”

  D’gan scowled.

  “I should get going,” D’vin said. He glanced back at Toldur and Cristov. “Would you care to come with me now or later?”